


She Deserves Better

by AnnaNocturnal



Series: Requests and Challenges [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Barebacking, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sorry, Incest, Jealousy, John is a dick, Oedipal Issues, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Parent/Child Incest, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Supernatural Kink Meme, failing marriage, freud would have a field day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaNocturnal/pseuds/AnnaNocturnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows his mom deserves so much better than the constant fighting and neglect she experiences with John. He just doesn't know how to make her see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Deserves Better

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** : She Deserves Better  
>  **Author** : girlgotagun  
>  **Pairing** : Dean/Mary
> 
>  **Prompter** : anonymous  
>  **Community** : [spnkink_meme](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Prompt** : [LINK](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/97375.html?thread=37578847)  
>  **Rating** : NC-17
> 
>  **Kinks** : hurt/comfort, incest, jealousy, angst, oral (cunnilingus), barebacking, oedipus complex 
> 
> **Warning** : This fill deals with some elements of dub-con. And obviously we’re getting a little oedipussy with this one. I’m not actually really warning for that I just really like that pun. You’ll have to forgive me.

Their fights always started the same. Mary would make some harmless comment—or, that would be her intention, anyway, there wasn’t a hint of malice in the sweet woman—and John would let it cut deep, wind it into his own insecurities and add it to the festering pile of crap that he kept inside. He would yell. She would plead, try to explain that she didn’t mean it that way, that she loved him. He would yell some more, and she would cry. Sometimes she yelled back, but even when she did she broke easily. She was too sweet, too good to contend with John Winchester when his blood started to boil.

There was no intimacy in their marriage. The filter in parents’ fights started to wear thin once their kids became adults, so sometimes John shouted about this too. But Dean also knew that the lack of intimacy may cause some fights, but the fights were the main cause of the lack of intimacy. It was a vicious cycle. 

They’d fight because John drank too much; John drank too much because they fought. They fought too much because Dean still lived at home; Dean still lived at home because he couldn’t leave his mom in this alone. Sometimes he wanted to shake her, wanted to shout and make her see how much more she deserved than what his dad was giving her. Mostly he wanted to punch his dad for not being able to see what he had in front of him, what he was throwing away, wasting. 

If Dean had a girl like her—because mostly he never let himself think if he had _her_ —he’d never treat her like that. He’d try like hell every day to show her how amazing she was, how much she meant to him, how much he loved her and cherished her. 

After the really bad ones, after John stormed out, the door slamming hard behind him, after he headed for the bar and the bottle and what little comfort it could offer when he couldn’t be a man and wanted to kick Mary while she was down, Dean would go to her. He’d wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, whisper that it was okay, that John loved her, that he loved her, that he’d never leave her. He’d done it since he was little, since the hushed arguments over the phone and behind closed doors. 

He wasn’t sure when he started dropping the first part. But now it was just, “It’s okay, Mom. I love you. I’ll never leave you.” It was probably more true, anyway. And even if it wasn’t, his dad didn’t treat her the way he should. Didn’t take care of her, emotionally or physically. 

Dean could do so much better; could be a much better partner for her. 

He wasn’t sure when that thought first occurred to him, but he knew deep in his soul that it was true. It wasn’t even about the sex, really. It was about _everything_ that his mom deserved; everything his dad hadn’t given her in a long time. 

It all came to a head when he was twenty-three. John and Mary had fought—well, John had fought and Mary had cried and begged for him to understand and stop screaming and please, just listen—and it seemed like it was the culmination of every fight that had happened before then. John threw up things that Mary had said even before Dean was born; things that he had let sit and fester in that pile, poisoning their relationship for over two decades. 

After John left Dean went downstairs, found his mother on the couch. Her elbows were on her knees, head cradled in her hands, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs as her silky blonde hair fell in a curtain to hide the tears themselves. Dean sat down beside her, drew her to him, and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. 

“It’s okay, Mom. I love you.” He kissed her head again, muttering into her hair. “I’ll never leave you.” 

Mary looked up to smile at him, to tell him that she was okay even when she wasn’t. He knew the drill. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb rubbing away a tear as it tracked over the soft skin of her cheek. He looked into her eyes, the pain held there hitting him like a punch to the chest, and before he really thought about it he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers gently, tenderly, the hand cupping her face moving to thread through her soft hair. 

When he pulled away she looked confused, hesitant; not disgusted or upset. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Dean, honey, what are you doing?” 

“You deserve so much better than this; than him.” Dean kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her lips. “Let me show you.” His voice was thick with emotion; not _lust_. Need of a different kind; love without the undercurrent of desperation. Absolute care and tenderness. 

Her eyes were downcast, a flush coloring her cheeks a beautiful rose color. She worried her lip between her teeth and Dean could see the hesitancy, the doubt in her posture, her expression, but he guided her face up, finding her lips with his own once more. He poured everything into the kiss; everything John should be giving her, everything he wanted to give her, everything she deserved. He poured everything into it, trying to fill any space that doubt could occupy. 

He leaned forward and she moved with him, letting him guide her to lay back on the couch, his hands gliding under the hem of her shirt, over her ribs. He touched her the way a man should touch his wife, his lover—the way he would touch her if she were his, every day. Firmness and strength, but not rough. Tender caresses that _could_ be more, that let her know she was safe, protected in a vulnerable situation like this. 

He dipped down, trailing his lips over the exposed skin between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her jeans and breathing the sweet smell of her skin in deep. He pressed a kiss over her belly button, his hands pushing her shirt up higher, moving back for only a minute to guide her to sit up, to slip the soft cotton over her head before he leaned back down, kissing up her stomach, hands circling around to unclasp her bra as he traced the point of his tongue up to the lacy fabric. Her breathing was picking up, a small whimper escaping her throat as he removed her bra and took one of her rosy pink nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin and sucking lightly. Her hand came to cup the back of his head and he could sense the hesitation still welling deep in her. He moved up, kissing the swell of her breast, the graceful arch of her shoulder and neck, her delicate jaw. “I love you.” The words were whispered, muttered in a raspy voice, and her eyes fell closed as she relaxed into his touch. 

He leaned back, pulling his own tee shirt over his head, smiling a bit when he saw something like appreciation pass over his mom’s face before he turned his attention to her jeans, popping the button and lowering the zipper before he grasped the waistband and began to tug them down along with her panties, pleased when she lifted her hips to ease the task. 

She was beautiful, truly. Dean had never seen her like this, and now that he had there was a part of him that was even more resentful of his dad. How could his dad have a woman like this and not do everything he could to keep her happy? Long smooth legs met soft hips and a trim waist, tapering back out over an expanse of soft, supple skin and a pair of breasts that looked like they belonged on a woman half her age and with half as many kids to her name. The apex of her thighs was covered in a light neat-trimmed dusting of golden hair, and Dean leaned down to nuzzle at it, hearing his mom’s breath hitch in her throat. 

“Wanna show you what a husband _should_ give you.” He said the words as he gently guided her legs apart and slightly up, turning his head to kiss the soft skin at the inside of her thigh. He could smell her, could tell she was wet, sweet arousal glistening on her most intimate spot. 

He spread her legs further, making room for him to lie comfortably between them, and brought his lips close to her warm center. They had never screamed about this, her and John, but Dean was willing to bet that he didn’t do it anyway. He looked up, gaze locking with his mom’s, letting the heat in her eyes give him permission to do what he wanted, and then he flicked his tongue out, drawing it slowly, smoothly through her slit in one long stroke. She whimpered, thighs spreading further and hips jutting out. He smiled, brought his fingers up to spread her open, and began to eat her out in earnest, tongue stroking through her sensitive folds, gathering up the sweet, private taste of her arousal and then dipping inside of her, flicking in and out, teasing her. She squirmed a little and he smiled against her, drifting up to swirl his tongue around her clit before pressing his lips to her and sucking lightly. 

She let out a moan, her back arching. Dean was proud of himself; proud to show her what he could offer her, what he was willing to give her. His cock twitched in his jeans as her hips rocked, seeking out more as he sucked her clit and then moved lower to fuck her with his tongue. He brought one hand down, pressed against his cock through the constricting denim. With the other hand he slid two fingers inside of her, curling and thrusting, rubbing at her walls as he let out a low moan that sent vibrations through her clit. Within minutes she was fluttering around his fingers, thrusting down, nearly riding his face as her fingers grasped at his short hair and _holy shit_ Mary was a squirter. She came hard, soaking his face and tightening around his fingers as she let out a moan that sounded almost like a sob; the sound that would issue from someone who hadn’t had a satisfying orgasm in a long time. 

Seeing her, feeling her come had made Dean harder than he thought possible, but this was about her. This was about showing his mom what John should be giving her. It wasn’t about sating his own needs. He wanted to take her, to make love to her, but he wanted to do it _for_ her. 

He unbuttoned his pants, his eyes meeting hers in a silent question. She hesitated, a blush creeping back into her cheeks, as though she had just remembered what was happening, and who they were. Still, after a moment she nodded, her hips rocking ever-so-slightly in encouragement. 

When Dean pushed inside of her they both moaned, their movements stilling for a moment as they adjusted. Dean thought about flipping them over, letting her control the pace and rhythm, letting her seek her own pleasure. That was what this was about, after all. But it was also about showing her what someone should be doing for her; not what she should be doing for herself. 

She felt perfect around his dick, tight and wet and hot. Hell, if he could make her feel half as good, he’d be doing great. He wondered again what special kind of crazy his dad must be to neglect _this_. 

He set up a slow, deep rhythm, letting her guide him with the movement of her hips against his as he drove them both slowly towards the edge, his lips and tongue and teeth working at her neck, careful not to leave marks even if he was sort of tempted to—it wasn’t like his dad would notice. 

“Dean…” His mom said his name so quietly that he almost missed it, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as her back arched. “Harder…please, Dean.” 

He complied, drawing back to slam into her, wringing a cry from her lips as she tossed her head back in pleasure. He thrust hard and fast into the warm, wet heat, relishing every moan and sigh that he drew from his mom. “See Mom…this is…what I meant.” His breathing had grown labored, his voice thick with emotion. “This is how _he_ …should be treating you…how _he_ should…make you feel.” 

And then they were beyond words, beyond thinking as Dean poured every bit of love and care for his mom into the pleasure he was giving her, driving her to the edge again. When she finally came she pulled Dean with her, her tight, hot walls milking his cock as he spilled into her. 

Afterwards he held her, knowing his dad would be out late, knowing he wouldn’t come back, knowing he didn’t care enough to do the things that Dean knew his mom deserved. 

“I love you, Mom. I’ll never leave you.” 

  
**The End.**   
_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_   



End file.
